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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326980">The Forest's Puppet</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Dark%20Kaerith'>Dark Kaerith (Kaerith)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Daddy Kink, Dubious Consent, Monsterfucker Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Other, Tentacle Monsters, Tentacles, Vines</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 05:41:07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Rape/Non-Con</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326980</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaerith/pseuds/Dark%20Kaerith</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Leshen aren't regular monsters nor sentient beings. Every witcher is taught to follow a basic script of supplication and to offer appeasement through a ritual. Geralt remembers all three times he has had to offer himself to the Forest Fathers to be explored and defiled. The shameful thing is that Geralt liked it each time. He dreams of this and wakes up aroused. The few other witchers he has talked to about this are embarrassed and disgusted but consider it a nasty chore that they must do. Geralt is different in that he secretly hopes for another encounter and he hates that part of himself.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>184</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Interesting Character and/or Interesting Relationship Development, Witcher Kinkmeme Collection</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Forest's Puppet</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt is conflicted when a contract turns out to be a leshen. Leshen aren't regular monsters, nor sentient beings; they're a strange hybrid of lore, magic, nature and superstition that means that they are smart enough to be spoken to but they aren't intelligent enough to really have a conversation with. Every witcher is taught to follow a basic script of supplication and to offer appeasement through a ritual.
</p><p>Geralt doesn't know who made or discovered the method to pacify a leshen, but if he did he would curse that name to the heavens. He wished that he could just kill the things or that they were simply considered to be too strong for even witchers to banish.
</p><p>He can't take anything made by the hands of man into the leshen's chosen territory which means he has to remove his weapons and clothes half a mile into the forest and then approach the leshen's area naked and unarmed. The wolves are easy enough to get by with a few Axiis, but Geralt has to find the sigil of wood and bone and sinew that is the leshen's claiming mark.
</p><p>He finds it, a totem of feathers and bird bones and birch bark, and he kneels before it, head lowered. He waits for a long time which makes his scalp prickle because the longer one waits the older the leshen tends to be. Younger ones are more curious, but the older ones have gone through this ritual a number of times.
</p><p>The leshen finally arrives, and it is ancient. The spirit within the woven structure of roots and vines that is crowned with a stag skull has enough energy to animate an incredible amount of mass. This is the largest manifestation Geralt has ever seen.
</p><p>Moving air and branches seem to creak out the leshen's words. It is less of a voice and more of an arcane communication, but the sound and movement seem to creep over his nerves in a way that Geralt can decipher as <i>«we remember you.»</i>
</p><p>This isn't how the script starts. Has Geralt actually had to banish this particular spirit before? He didn't even think that the things identified witchers as individuals.
</p><p>"I am here to plead for your beneficence, O Father of the Forest." Geralt recites his first line despite the unusual start.
</p><p><i>«we know the taste of your seed.»</i>
</p><p>"I come to you as Nature birthed me," Geralt presses on, despite the chills and shivers he has from that frightening statement.
</p><p><i>«you lie.»</i>
</p><p>There's no malice in that message, something more like amusement, but that doesn't comfort Geralt at all. He decides that if the leshen won't follow the script then he won't either. "Father of the Forest, the humans living nearby-"
</p><p><i>«are you our son?»</i> The impression Geralt gets is more of a tease than an actual question.
</p><p>"I call you 'Father' out of respect." Geralt forces himself to hold still as a thin root breaks from the ground and climbs over his thigh and curls loosely around his wrist.
</p><p><i>«your sap races within you. you are afraid. afraid of father-us.»</i>
</p><p>Geralt thinks about trying to lie, but the leshen is a predator and recognises the physical signs of stress in animals, even if his term for blood is wrong. "Yes, I am afraid. All of the humans are afraid, but I was brave enough to speak to you."
</p><p>The spirit's manifestation moves towards Geralt on a carpet of tiny moving roots until it looms over him. <i>«orphan child. we remember you. you remember us. you do not smell of bravery.»</i>
</p><p>A vine snakes its way around his cock, and Geralt can't stop a noise from squeezing from his throat. He remembers. He definitely remembers all three times he has had to do this: offer himself to the Forest Fathers to be explored and defiled and accept their dirty tendrils and branches into his body. The shameful thing is that Geralt liked it each time. He dreams of this and wakes up aroused. The few other witchers he has talked to about this are embarrassed and disgusted but consider it simply a nasty chore that they must do. Geralt is different in that he secretly hopes for another encounter and he hates that part of himself.
</p><p>His cock wasn't limp before the touch of the vine and now it fully hardens in moments. Geralt moves his knees apart and gives the leshen more space for roots and vines to curl around and under him. He is raised from the ground in a structure of living, possessed wood, his arms and legs wrapped and pulled apart, wider limbs supporting his back, a woven net of thin sprouts holds his head up but is flexible enough to bend when Geralt moves to look up at the empty skull-eyes as the manifestation looms over him.
</p><p>Aside from the one unmoving coil around his dick, he isn't being touched by the forest spirit the way he desires to be. "Please," he says.
</p><p>Suddenly he isn't staring into black eye sockets anymore as a red glow fills both spaces. <i>«we will require all of you as an offering to leave this place.»</i>
</p><p>All Geralt wants is the humiliation and ecstasy of being embraced and used by this eldritch horror. The glow burns and he has to turn his face away. A band of braided sprigs circles his face and protects his vision.
</p><p><i>«we see what you desire and we accept.»</i>
</p><p>The breeze picks up and he shivers, exposed completely to the chill. Geralt feels himself moving until he is shielded from the wind. He is pulled against a rough, irregular surface and his head is cradled against what must be the amalgam of fur and living moss that covers the trunk of the spirit's form under the skull.
</p><p>It is wrong, it is a sign of mental sickness, but Geralt presses his cheek into that unnatural pelt and the leshen's bond around his left arm permits him to move it so that he can grope for a handhold and curl his fingers around a smooth branch as he clutches his captor as if they were really father and son.
</p><p>It placates something inside of him but there is still a gaping emptiness. He scrambles for something to say, but all he can think of is: "I am here to plead for your beneficence, Father of the Forest."
</p><p>Another discordant nerve-tingling sense of amusement. <i>«you lie. but we would like to receive your pleas.» </i>
Something presses behind his balls, and Geralt gasps and arches as much as his bonds allow. "Please!" bursts out of him as his perverted need fills his body. "I need... need..." his mortification and self-digust manage to rein his tongue back under their control, and all he can do is writhe and shudder as he remembers and imagines the sensations of being impaled on living, spirit-possessed wood.
</p><p><i>«you are but a sapling-child to my sunlight. a wolf-pup wanting nourishment from my teat.»</i> The spirit makes a pliable branchlet press against his lips and he opens them and lets it in. It emits a thick, sweet fluid and Geralt sucks it down. Whatever he is swallowing seems to warm him, and the branch thickens but does not harden and fills all the space between his tongue and teeth.
</p><p>Wind ripples the trees and there's a susurrus as twigs snap and deciduous leaves rustle. Crows caw and a lone wolf howls, and Geralt is in the middle of all of the life in this forest wrapped up in its manifested arms. The sprig around his cock begins to writhe, stimulating him to the edge of orgasm. He pulls his mouth from the sap-leaching branch and makes a wordless wanting noise. 
</p><p><i>«we know what you want»</i> the forest spirit says. <i>«call us father.»</i>
</p><p>"Please, Father," Geralt says. "Please fill me." A number of tendrils immediately nudge at his rear opening and wiggle their way in. This isn't what he expects-- the previous times he was just impaled by wooden thickness, but he stays relaxed and hopes that Father will provide.
</p><p>A rootlet twists around the head of his cock and eases into his slick slit. The tendrils at his ass enter him further and twist into a lumpy braid of fibers that just teases at the spot inside of him.
</p><p>Geralt sucks and laps at the thing in his mouth and thrusts against the monster holding him, but his efforts don't seem to do any good at making anything plunge into him deeper and thicker. He whines and squirms.
</p><p>His body is wrapped by more and more vines and sticks and roots.<i> «we could tear you apart, little one» </i>Father says, an abrupt rush of wind indicates its laughter. Geralt is entombed against the trunk of the manifestation, spread apart and held in place by the forest, blind and helpless. Even his fingers are immobile, preventing him from making signs. He is utterly at the forest's mercy but isn't terrified; there is a hot ache deep in his belly and he has no desires except for the leshen to make him come by using his body in unnatural ways.
</p><p>There are tears making his skin itch where it is caught under the branches hiding his sight. He is a pathetic witcher with this perverted lust, but he wouldn't give this experience up. It is a calming thing to be overwhelmed with greater strength and held against another body even if it is a scarecrow housing a nebulous animus.
</p><p>The branch in his mouth draws away, and Geralt keens at its loss. He isn't satisfied until the leshen bushes him and gives him another tendril, thicker, and snakes it over his tongue and down this throat. 
</p><p>The tangle of living strands in his ass grows and spirals higher into him, and his brain fires off white flashes of pleasure behind his closed eyelids. More rootlets and vines curl around his cock and press against his testes. Every inch of his skin is being caressed and protected by the living forest and he can feel it erotically invade him from three points, and he imagines the tendrils growing and tangling and filling up his skin to make him another puppet belonging to the leshen.
</p><p>His prostate is rubbed but his climax is physically prevented by the spirit's hold on his sac and prick. He makes a sound around the invading limb in his throat, but can only grunt and drool feebly. The vines around his throat curl tighter, but the threat of being choked just makes his mind spiral higher into ecstasy.
</p><p>Geralt is held in a writhing mass of tentacles that hold him off the ground and threaten and pleasure him everywhere in the same movements. Everything in his head drifts away and his thoughts devolve from begging to the Forest Father to incoherent thoughts of "Daddy." He is blissfully tortured until the being finally slips out of his cock and lets him come.</p><p>He loses consciousness. When time returns he is naked and alone on the forest floor with the totem broken and scattered in pieces around him. There is no forest spirit, no leshen, present in these woods any more.
</p><p>He lets himself bask in the afterglow and forces the shame back until he has washed off the sweat and other fluids in a shallow stream of icemelt from the far-off mountains. It is only when he returns to his belongings and starts dressing himself that the the disgust and loneliness starts to invade him.
</p><p>There's a sudden ripple of air and voice that makes him jump, <i>«not alone.»</i>, but the trees aren't moving. The ripple is a vibration in his own throat, and he presses one hand against it and can feel something move inside. His horror at still being invaded by a monster is battered down by pleasure as something else twitches inside of his bottom, pressing that most sensitive spot and making him come in moments.
</p><p><i>«we believe the word you used is puppet»</i> the leshen says from Geralt's own throat after his orgasm has left the witcher on his hands and knees in the dirt.
</p><p><i>«you will show us the world beyond the forests»</i> the spirit that has possessed him says. <i>«we will reward you, child, in the way you crave. stand up.»</i>
</p><p>"Yes, Daddy," Geralt says.</p>
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